we break the sky
by Silver Weasley
Summary: Things are different aboard Serenity, too many secrets remain unspoken, and neither Mal nor Inara can sleep. Post-BDM. Mal/Inara oneshot.


**we break the sky**

_(a thousand times before we get there)_

_**Disclaimer: **_Joss is boss. (OMG I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO GET TO USE THIS DISCLAIMER. /lameness)

_**Author's Note: **_Wow, first off, it's been forever since I've been on here. I've missed it. Anyway, here is MY FIRST FIREFLY FIC! After three years of adoring this show, it's about time. This was super hard to write on so many levels, but I really enjoyed it. I apologize for any inconsistencies in tone, characterization, etc. Hopefully I'll get the hang of this sooner or later! Title borrowed (in part) from The Hush Sound's song, "Break the Sky." Feedback, as always, is much appreciated.

* * *

_Serenity _flew different under River's slim-handed, certain guidance.

Mal knew he wasn't the only one who noticed, but of course nobody dared breathe a word about it. It wasn't that she flew the boat better than Wash had, or worse exactly...it was just different, that was all.

Things were so gorram different.

Zoë didn't sleep much anymore. Mal fretted over her in the only way he knew how – claps on the shoulder that lasted a little too long, pushing food at her when she wouldn't eat, checking in with her far more often than he would have dared previously. When he could bring himself to ask, she always said the same thing:

"I'm fine, sir. Doing just fine."

He pretended he didn't linger outside her door late at night, listening to her muffled sobs and wishing he could find the words. She pretended she didn't know he was there. And _Serenity _quietly soared on.

Kaylee and Simon were scarcely apart. If they weren't fighting, they were kissing, and when they weren't kissing—well, Mal didn't like to think on that much. Long as Kaylee was happy and the doctor did right by her, he was just fine with the notion that those long hours in Simon's bunk were spent chastely holding hands and playing many a round of gin rummy.

Jayne didn't talk much after everything that had happened. It surprised Mal, at first, the quiet. Jayne'd started spending most of his time cleaning guns over and over, taking them apart, putting them back together, and for the first time in memory, he didn't seem to much care when, where, how, or why they got paid. Mal didn't know how long that part would last, but he welcomed Jayne's seeming indifference to simply flying.

For now, everyone seemed to dread the thought of landing. Couldn't say why, exactly, but it seemed best to remain space-borne for as long as fuel and money would allow.

Inara had made no move to return to civilization. Ever since she'd said she didn't know if she ever wanted to go back, Mal'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. 'Nara had left before; no reason she wouldn't do it again. None of her fancy things were with her, and her shuttle seemed so bare. He flinched every time he walked by, half expecting it gone.

It never was, though. And that, he supposed, was the bit that mattered.

--

Long after everyone had gone to bed, Mal paced.

_Serenity, _so familiar beneath his boots, felt different somehow, and it ached at him when he tossed in his bunk.

He wandered the halls, the galley, the engine room, the cargo bay, running a hand across the smooth hull. All the ship's little sounds—the whirring engine, the faint pinging from autopilot, the rush of fresh oxygen—blended together in a comforting hum. Mal lived for that hum. It meant safety. It meant home.

Without much purpose, Mal wandered to the cockpit, longing for a better view of the stars; maybe a glimpse or two of open, empty, Reaver-free sky would soothe his uneasy heart.

Jayne was standing in the doorway, muscled arms folded heavily across his chest.

"Jayne—?" Mal started, but Jayne held out a hand, motioning Mal forward with a sharp jerk of his head.

"She's sleepin'."

Hearing Jayne whisper was almost stranger than Jayne not talking at all. Mal peered around the burlier man's shoulder, and couldn't help but crack an affectionate grin at the sight in front of him. River was curled in the pilot's chair, long hair splayed over her face, head lolling on her shoulder. Her feet, bare as always, dangled over the far edge, barely brushing the dashboard.

"Third night this week," Jayne observed, that unfamiliar whisper noticeably softening the usual gravel in his voice. "Yer overworkin' her, Mal."

"Hold on now!" Mal protested a little too loudly. Jayne narrowed his eyes, and Mal rushed to lower his voice, hands in the air. "_I'm _not overworkin' anyone. Ain't hardly been getting any work at all, if you'll recall. And since when did _you_ start makin' a fuss over Little Miss Weapon of Mass Destruction's sleeping habits?"

"Since she saved our gorram lives, that's when!" Jayne growled. Mal struggled to keep the clear-cut disbelief off of his face, settling on blinking solemnly at Jayne in lieu of letting his jaw drop. He knew near-death experiences could change a man—but _Jayne? _Jayne _Cobb_, who brushed shoulders with the Grim Reaper on an almost weekly basis? Jayne Cobb, who'd sooner cut out his own tongue than part with a payload? _That _Jayne Cobb, the one who had happily tried to sell this girl and her brother to the feds not ten months ago?

"Huh." Yup. That summed it up all eloquent and dignified-like.

"No ruttin' way that girl's getting enough rest," Jayne muttered, barely acknowledging Mal's wide-eyed confusion. "You oughtta be ashamed." With a disapproving grunt, Jayne shoved forward from the doorframe, shuffled towards River's chair, and scooped her up in his arms as though it were, well, _natural. _Mal nearly choked, and River barely stirred, sighing almost contentedly as Jayne gently made to slide past Mal.

"Jayne," Mal managed, voice betraying just a bit more dismay than he woulda normally cared for. "You're not—you two…well, I ain't gonna have a problem with the good doctor, am I?" Almost immediately, Jayne went redder than the strawberries Kaylee was always going starry-eyed over.

"Aw, c'mon, Mal, it ain't like that!" Jayne hissed, very carefully looking anywhere but at the sleeping girl in his arms. "Yer—that's just—well, I'm not takin' any advantage!" Mal cleared his throat.

"Just sayin', is all. Doc wouldn't much appreciate—"

"Gorramit, Mal!" Jayne's voice threatened to carry above an angry whisper, and Mal got the privilege of witnessing, for perhaps the first time ever, Jayne drawing a breath and _collecting _himself. What the hell was happening to the 'Verse? "I just…I'm tryin' to make good on what I done wrong. You know, repent for my sins 'n all. I very nearly gave her back to them feds, after what they did to her. And, well…I'm tryin', okay?"

"Fair enough." Mal let his hand settle on Jayne's shoulder a brief moment. "You should get her to her bunk, in any case." Jayne nodded fervently, pulling eagerly away from the captain, and heading down the short set of stairs that led out of the cockpit. "And then _leave,_" Mal called after him helpfully. In response, Jayne swore violently under his breath and shot his captain a rather mutinous glare before disappearing around the corner.

"Huh," Mal repeated, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head in bemusement.

Different. Unbelievably, inexplicably, irrevocably gorram different, and he couldn't wrap his brain 'round all of it. How could things shift so, without even asking permission or giving him advance warning? How could one ninety pound slip of a girl destroy hundreds of Reavers in minutes? How could his trusted pilot, his _friend, _be breathing air at the beginning of a second and impaled at the end of it? How could _Jayne Cobb _be quietly carrying the girl he'd turned against, a girl he neither liked nor comprehended, to her bed at this very moment?

How could Inara have come back? After everything they'd said – all the ifs and the almosts and the fumbles and the desperation and the words that never quite tumbled from his tongue – how could she be sleeping in her shuttle again, mere footsteps away? How, when he'd surely lost her forever to the life and people and beauty she deserved, but he could never offer?

What was he supposed to do now?

Exhaling raggedly, Mal flopped down in the recently vacated pilot's seat, checking all the vitals out of habit, scanning oxygen and fuel supplies. They were on course, still, headed towards Persephone. Might take on passengers, earn a little cash to keep the crew happy. Even if they weren't talkin', they were like to start. ETA five days, three hours, seven minutes.

Wide space stretched before Captain Malcolm Reynolds, and just like that, loss swept over him, somehow more vacant and oxygen-empty than the star-dotted vacuum of nothingness _Serenity _plowed through.

_It can get awful lonely, in the black, _Kaylee's murmur reminded him, voice carrying out from some half-forgotten corner of his mind.

Mal shifted uneasily. Maybe they would dock in Persephone a spell. Heal some. Let Zoë take some time to herself, set foot on solid ground, get away from the constant reminder of Wash…

Mal scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing wearily. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to stop thinking about this, to let his mind settle and his muscles unclench, but it was almost easier to avoid it. No dreams. No unnecessary complications.

Mal wasn't the crying type, never had been, and he had no intent to change his ways anytime soon.

And yet…there were little things that almost, _almost _got him every once in awhile. It was never remembering the big stuff, like holding the Shepherd before he gasped his last or broadcasting a horrifyingly true video for all with eyes to see and ears to hear, or dragging Zoë away from her dead husband, that set him off.

It was finding a worn Bible the preacher had left in Mal's room, tucked neatly under his mattress, with a folded note in Book's neat script (_Just in case). _It was Wash's ridiculous plastic dinosaurs, perched in their rightful spot on the dash, resilient and somehow completely unscarred. It was Zoë's blank stare and two less people on his boat and Jayne silently worrying over River's lack of sleep. Those were the things that dropped Mal's head to his hands and made him wonder if tears were really so unreasonable when the 'Verse was just so gorram unfair.

"You're up awfully late," a voice observed softly from just behind him. Mal started, head jerking up, hands dropping to his lap, as Inara's hand settled on his shoulder. "Can't sleep?"

"One way to put it," Mal agreed, making a show of stretching before he offered Inara a wry smile. "You don't seem to be gettin' your beauty rest either – not that you'd need it, I suppose." He paused, scratching behind his ear. "Never seen you up quite so late before." Inara laughed a little, brushing past him to slide elegantly into the co-pilot's seat.

"Just because you never see me doesn't mean I'm not there," she said, arching a brow.

"Now, that's more than a mite creepy," Mal pointed out. "Never pegged you for the 'lurking in shadows' type, 'Nara." She rolled her dark eyes imperiously, and he struggled to keep a straight face.

"I don't mean like _that_," she scoffed. "I just mean – I've never slept easily. And especially not now." Inara swallowed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, and for a moment, their eyes locked. Mal rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, dropping his gaze first. "Anyway, what are you doing in here? Aren't we on autopilot by now?"

"I surely hope so," Mal said, eyes widening earnestly. " 'Course, I found our pilot asleep at the wheel not twenty minutes ago, so for all I know, the computer's takin' a nap on the job, too."

"River," Inara sighed, smiling fondly. "You took her to her bunk?"

"Surprisingly enough, Jayne relieved me of that particular duty."

"_Jayne?_"

"Yup."

"Wait a moment – Jayne _Cobb?_"

"That'd be the one. Seemed to be under the impression I've been workin' her to the bone, _admonished _me, and carried her off into the night like she was a gorram china doll. _Shèn dì yù?_" Inara shook her head, rising from her seat and striding to the window. Mal watched her quietly for a moment – the way her curls tumbled every which way over her shoulders, how she shifted the thin gold shawl absentmindedly as she raised a palm to press it to the glass. It almost hurt to look at her sometimes. As a rule, he wasn't one to wax poetical, but there was a kind of grace to everything Inara did, a grace that caught his voice and clenched his fists.

"It changes people, doesn't it?" she said, not bothering to turn. One thing he'd always liked best about her was that she cared as little about clarification as he did. Without much thinking about the why of it, Mal got to his feet, closing the gap between them in two strides. He stood beside her, arms folded across his chest, and pushed back the sigh rising in his throat.

"It surely does," he agreed, swallowing hard. "Suppose that's to be expected." Inara's palm slipped from the window, dropped to her side.

"It changed me, Mal." Inara's voice was so soft he could barely hear it above the ever-present rush of space.

"I know." Mal forced himself to keep his eyes focused upon the emptiness before him, to uncatch his voice and unwind his heart from his sleeve.

The silence that followed wasn't weighty or uncomfortable or meaningful. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched the stars and the black, and this, Mal thought, _this _could be enough. Just to be able to breathe the same air as her, to stand by her and catch a whiff of perfume, to hear the bite in her voice or feel the weight of her gaze…that was all he really needed.

Chances had been missed. Sidelong glances had long been traded, sheer _want _had always coursed beneath his insults, and Mal had grown accustomed to the longing. It felt safe, almost—familiar.

As long as Inara stayed, it not only _could _be enough, it _would _be.

"Are you going to leave?" The question had tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself, and as if it had been waiting for permission, tension crept through the air. Mal watched Inara's reflection, the way her eyes widened a bit as she took a deep breath.

"Would it matter if I did?" she asked at long last. The usual calm in her voice was gone. Mal couldn't name what had replaced it, but it was something raw. Something he'd heard only once before.

He turned, reaching out to grasp her shoulder roughly, and she met his gaze almost stubbornly, never shy, never hesitant.

" 'Course it'd matter," he said. "I don't know what I'd do if—well. Just…I—we like having you here. You're welcome for as long as you choose to be; you know that." More than anything, Mal wanted to let go of her shoulder. He didn't know why he'd grabbed her, didn't know what he'd been thinking, didn't know why he couldn't let his hand drop to his side where he knew it belonged, but she was just—_magnetic_, in every sense. He'd never had a choice.

"I had a life back there," Inara reminded him. "I had my work, people who looked at me with respect, nobody to call me a whore or spit insults at me on a daily basis. It was everything I'd always thought I wanted." Gorramit, now he wanted to pull away more than ever; of course, _wanting_ something had never done him much good in the past.

"I ain't looking to fight."

"It's what we do, Mal! Have things really changed so much? Suppose I didn't leave, suppose I never looked back—can you really say that we wouldn't be snapping at each other every other day? That we wouldn't drive each other insane?"

"No," Mal managed, voice rising despite himself. "No, I can't promise that—can't promise _anything_, life we lead. Way I see it, we could square off and bicker at one other every day 'til the 'Verse flickers out, and I wouldn't give a good gorram."

"Why not?" Inara demanded, that rawness still cracking her voice.

"What?" Mal's grip on her shoulder slipped, breath coming up short.

"You heard me," she said quietly, eyes never leaving his for a moment. "Why not?"

It was there between them, then, plain as the scars on his shoulders and the arch of her neck.

"'Cause even if all we ever did was keep on breakin' each other's hearts," Mal said, voice gruffer than usual, "I'd be with you."

Inara took a step closer to him, and Mal's hand crept down to rest on her forearm despite his best intentions.

"I don't like complications." She was so close, studying him, breath a little uneven. "But it seems they're all I have at the moment."

"Damn complications." Mal kept his voice as steady as he could, drawing closer than he'd ever allowed himself. "I just. I need you to—"

"What?" she asked. He'd never seen that expression on her face before, this strange, soft look of _rightness_. It terrified him, literally sent goosebumps across his arms as he struggled to calm his heart. And oh, he thought, it'd be so easy to walk away, to make excuses, pretend this had never happened, keep dodging his dreams and calling her whore.

For a moment, he was tempted. Even now, Inara seemed unattainable. He almost thought never having her would be better than trying to and failing.

"Just tell me," she said, and all of a sudden, one of her hands was on his cheek. Mal closed his eyes, tried to bite back the gasp. "Mal—_look _at me."

"Stay," he chocked out, ducking his head. "Gorramit, Inara, just _stay_. When you were gone…"

"I understand," she whispered, leaning into him, a laugh breaking her voice. "I do. The job—that life—what I wanted…none of it matters. Try as I might, I don't know who the hell I am without you, Malcolm Reynolds."

Mal kissed her, then, her name on his lips, and his hands were in her hair, along her back, everywhere. Inara tasted like loneliness and inaudible beauty and everything he'd never told her, but mostly, she tasted like home.

And yes, things were different, Mal thought, as Inara's shawl slipped from her narrow shoulders and she undid the buttons of his shirt, things were always going to be different, now.

Life and love—they did that to you. They broke you up, pieced you back together, broke you again, but no matter how many ways they twisted your heart, there was always the tiniest bit of light waiting for you somewhere in the black.


End file.
